


Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader

by yurtletheturtlehenderson



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Flashbacks, Forgotten Ones, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Lost Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22265002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yurtletheturtlehenderson/pseuds/yurtletheturtlehenderson
Summary: COMING SOON 🎈Mike Hanlon × Reader || IT Rewrite𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨 // n. the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in personMike Hanlon and Y/n L/n - two young outcasts who have grown up in isolation - meet and fall in love when they join the infamous Losers Club that comes to face an evil entity that preys on the children of their small town of Derry Maine. After the groups encounter with IT they each make an oath to come back to Derry if It should ever return. They live in peace for a short while, until Y/n is forced to move away and depart from her young love Mike.Tragically, anyone who leaves Derry is doomed to forget, including Y/n. 27 years pass and Mike, the only member of the Losers Club to remain in Derry, is the only one of any recollection of the groups encounter and the rest of the Losers - especially his long lost love. Y/n has moved on and long forgotten Mike, but she always felt as if something was missing. That is until she receives a call from her forgotten home town, from a familiar voice that calls her home.⚠️Gore, as well as instances of racism homophobia, fatphobia, domestic abuse & mentions of suicide. I own nothing
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. ▸⊳ ❖ Preview ❖ ⊲◂

**Author's Note:**

> 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨 // n. the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person
> 
> \- dictionary of obscure sorrows
> 
> I hope you enjoy this sneak peek of Lethosbenthos, coming soon!

"Mike! Party of eight!"

Mike casts one last sweep across the waiting area, no sign of anyone yet. Eagerly, he pushes himself off the wall - he had given up his seat to a little boy, his parents grateful but truthfully he was restless. He soon falls in line with the waitress, and as she rounds a few corners, Mike subconsciously takes note of the route to his table. For a moment he allows himself the distraction of the savory smells wafting into his nose, though the distraction is quickly replaced by thoughts. Thoughts of her. 

Would she actually come? Would she be happy to see him again? And just how much would she remember? She was very distant and quiet when he called her. It nearly broke his heart when she said those two words. He could still hear them bouncing around his skull, echoing in the farthest corners of his mind.

Mike who?

"Here is your table, sir, and your menus" the waitress makes a quick round about the table dealing the folders quickly. "Now will the rest of your party be arriving shortly?"

Mike's eyes flickered past the waitress and where they had just arrived from, and he smiled nervously.

"I hope so," he mumbled, a nervous chuckle vibrating through his chest.

The waitress frowned a little at this, tilting her head and Mike was quick to correct his mistake.

"They should be, yes. Yes, thank you,"

The waitress smiled and nodded her head slightly in relief. Without another word, she disappeared around the corner. Mike found himself pacing, his hands, he realized, were sweating. Anxiously, he wipes his palms on his jeans and begins drumming his fingers on his legs as he walks. 

His mind returns to the Losers, and he begins to picture how they might have aged. Not so much physically, but emotionally. Morally. Most of them sounded quite uncertain, though he couldn't really blame them. But the question was, would they still be willing to fight? And what would he do if they weren't? Mike really didn't want to think of such a thing. Not only because the task of defending the town would fall to him, but he refused to believe his friends would abandon him. Leave him to fend for himself.

No. No, that wasn't them. Hell, they didn't even know him and they all put their asses on the line to protect him from Bowers. The infamous rock fight. Mike thought about that day a lot. He had lived in Derry all his life and that was the first time he could remember feeling truly at home since his parents had passed. That very day, Ben had taken them all to the clubhouse he had refurbished, a place they could all call their own. This was another detail that warmed Mike's heart. The fact that not only had these six strangers saved him and his best friend, but had welcomed them in with open arms, without even a second thought. From the moment the first rock was cast across the Barrens, he was a Loser, through and through.

Mike takes note of the dull ache blossoming at the bottom of his heels where they dug into the worn-out souls of his shoes. He shifted on his feet, shaking out each shoe just enough to readjust before he resumes his pacing. Though he thinks better of it and does his best to remain in one place. He is still much too restless and uneasy to take a seat, so he glides across the carpeted floor and directs all his attention to the extravagant fish tank extending along the wall.

His eyes scan the water, searching desperately for another distraction. Unable to go much longer thinking about the wait and stomach much too upset to focus on anything his phone might provide. Finally, his eyes catch sight of a strikingly beautiful fish, with brilliant stripes and colors. It weaves in and out throughout the many planted ornaments of synthetic seaweed and ceramic rocks, only to glance up at Mike.

The fish continues to stare at Mike, mouth opening and closing, but eyes never faltering and it's body - apart from its slim fins - hardly moves, it seemed unnatural to him. Mike tenses, he can feel his jaw grow tight and sore from clenching - he had made an awful habit of that as of late, what with everything going on. He attempts to steady his breathing, preparing himself for the worst. But the fish merely turns away, disinterested and retreats into its rather luxurious ceramic palace in the corner of the tank.

Mike sighs, rubbing the strain from his eyes and that is when he hears it. That captivating voice. The voice that haunted him for twenty-seven years. I'll call you. The last three words she had spoken to him since their departure at the train station that woeful evening. Of course it wasn't her fault as Mike would later come to learn, everyone who left Derry seemed to forget everything of the small town.

But that voice, he could never forget her voice, no matter how hard he tried. The voice of his best friend, the butcher's daughter that had greeted him eagerly with a smile and portions of food she would smuggle from her father's shop for him on his deliveries because she knew he never had time for breakfast. The girl who stole his heart with every laugh, every passion-fueled rant, every sarcastic remark, and every spitfire response when she had been pushed just far enough. And the girl who broke his heart when she disappeared from his life so suddenly.

"Mike?"

His heart pounding so violently against his ribs he fears it will break them, Mike turns around to face her. Like the fish in the tank just moments ago, he finds his mouth opening and closing sporadically and he attempts to close it to the best of his ability. There she stood, the waitress retreating around the corner behind her but Mike could only register the woman before him. Mike noticed several things about her at once, a great overwhelming deal the moment he laid eyes on her.

He noticed that despite the inevitable physical toll of time, she looked the same. Hauntingly similar, in fact. Even her choice of clothes was strikingly close to what he last saw on her. It almost looked as if she had never gotten off the train until tonight, never changing, but waiting. For this moment. For this stop.

Her eyes said different, they were still a brilliant shade of E/C but now they held experience and knowledge. They had seen many places. Her S/C skin only proved this theory, it seemed slightly darker than he remembered, she looked as if she had spent many years in the sun. She held herself the same, still tall and striving for confidence but this time he could sense it. The confidence was stronger, more concentrated, she had certainly found it somewhere along the way. But her smile. It was the same broken smile she had given him the day they were forced to say goodbye.

The smile that said, I'm sorry. She wore it even now. It was hauntingly beautiful but it didn't help his aching heart. She did though. Her being there was enough to make it stronger again. For when Mike looked at her now, he didn't see the years lost between them like assumed he would, nor did he see a stranger as he feared despite the clear displacement she showed. But he saw his long lost love, the girl he could never quite shake from his mind, the girl whose words and actions bled through his conscience and into his own everyday life. 

He saw his best friend.

"Y/n."


	2. ⊳ Ch. 1: No One Here ⊲

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨 // n. the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person
> 
> \- dictionary of obscure sorrows

\- 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔 -

It is not often the streets of Derry Maine catch a glimpse of Mike Hanlon roaming its streets. The older folks in the community - who had been around when he was young - remembered him as that orphan boy of the "crackhead kook" that burned down Harris Avenue. But the false rumors had fizzled, slowly dying out with the older population that had started them. Nowadays, he was known by most as the recluse librarian, the one who spent most of his days holed up inside the loft above the Derry Public Library working on who knows what. No one really knew, of course, no one ever bothered to ask.

Mike didn't know many people, and yet everyone seemed to know Mike. He did know a great deal about the town and its residents, more so than any other citizen of Derry. When he wasn't holed up inside, he was gathering information. Information from the townsfolk, their stories. He conducted many interviews over town as a part of his research on his own existing knowledge of the town's darkest secret. Yes, Derry knew Mike, and Mike knew Derry. The history of the town and its people, that is. And yet, no one truly knew Mike Hanlon.

Nobody that lived in Derry at least. There was one person that knew Mike like the back of her hand, and she was the only person he knew more than anything. But she was miles away, and any memory of Mike was fuzzy and unclear, and if she thought hard enough she would find nothing more than a blurry shape on the other side of that foggy windowpane of her memories. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never shake her from his mind permanently. She visited his thoughts often, and not a single one of his efforts to rid her from his conscious once and for all proved fruitful.

To him, she was every catchy song on the radio. The tune you could never drown out no matter what else you played, the picture that never quite faded. Decades of his life were spent trying to forget her, and while he had eventually learned how to cast her from his mind for periods of time, she always had a way of sneaking back in. They were cursed, she was doomed to forget, and he was doomed to remember.

When she had left Derry at the age of seventeen, she had taken his heart with him. Of course, it was never his, to begin with. It was hers since that humid June day all those years ago when they first met. How important that day would come to be he had no clue, but it didn't matter now. She was long gone, and as Mike had quickly come to learn, he and Derry had been stripped from her memories not long after her departure. People who leave Derry, he discovered, don't return. Derry in itself was cursed, a mere bubble out of time that brought nothing but foggy memories and sorrowful voids in the hearts of those who left. And for some, like Mike, who has stayed.

A low grunt rumbles through his chest and he shakes the thoughts away. Instead, he turns his attention to the details surrounding him on his walk. Every independent crack in the pavement below his shoes, and the vibrant blades of grass - no, it was moss, he realizes - growing up from in between. The wind picked up from a subtle breeze to a small burst of air that carried with it the overwhelming but intoxicating smells from the bakery down the street. And despite the warm air, the wind had been a refreshing burst that cooled his skin that was covered in the thin layer of sweat on his brow. The pleasant sounds of a wooden wind chime rang through the air that brought his attention to the streets.

It was only then when his eyes landed on the familiar lamppost with the chipped paint on the base, and the overpowering fragrance mix in the air did he realize where he had wandered. Costello Avenue Market. Despite the small changes in one or two venues, it was almost identical to how it stood 27 years ago. The savory smells of the bakery around the block were snuffed out in the unusually pleasant blend of popcorn from the Capitol Theater and the faint hint of chocolate and sweets from the new ice cream shop across the street. Well, newish... It wasn't new at all.

Derry Scoops was one of few selected venue changes in Costello Markets and while it had felt to Mike as only a mere few years ago, it had truly been decades. As long as Mike had been around, it had changed from place to place. It was a flower shop, shoe store, even a small book shop at one point; Derry's Book Nook. But Mike would always know it as Quality Meats. He had been employed there in the summer of '88 delivering meat from his family's farm. That's when he met her.

No, he told himself as he shakes his head, he couldn't keep doing this to himself. It wasn't healthy. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about, much bigger things! The pattern was starting up again, the pattern he studied and memorized over the past thirty years or so but he wasn't completely certain. Not yet, but then again this wasn't something to wait around for. Mike is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude he had decided to go for a walk to clear his head.

The fresh air was certainly, well, a breath of fresh air, he realizes. The combined hours he had spent in that damn loft in the past week alone was enough to drive him mad. With no company other than his books and sketches, every scrap of research he had compiled in the past few decades was bouncing around his mind and had turned into white noise. Nothing but static. And all he could focus on was every creak in the floorboards, funny enough, he knew exactly where they were, given the time spent inside. Another reason to be grateful for the outdoors; unpredictability.

Mike took a long deep breath, letting the warm summer air fill his lungs as his chest swelled. He can feel the clouds over his mind start to blow away like a small fan against a tide of fog, slowly draining his mind of the heavy thoughts that have plagued him the past few weeks. The ritual, the rising number of missing person reports, even the turtle; but he was no help to Mike now. And as he's done a million times before, with a deep breath and his heart open wide he allows the scents of the city mix with the scent of freshly cut grass and he is transported back to the simpler times as his legs continue to carry him across town.

Mike almost laughs at the thought. 'Simple' was far from the right word to describe his youth. Things were never simple in Derry, no matter how happy or complicit anyone seemed it was always a mask. Everyone had their secrets, their demons. After all, Derry was the town of such creatures, the birthplace of true evil and it was this very plague on the town that had weighed Mike down. Kept him tied here. And even though Mike had dedicated his entire life to the research and observation of the town - the plague he was tasked with keeping at bay - he hardly dared to even think of Its name.

It was truly an evil thing, just maybe evilness in and of itself. It wasn't quite a monster, no, a monster would be far kinder than this. It was a presence, a dark and cruel presence that you could never quite escape. It was an entity that fed on your darkest fears, using your deepest, darkest secrets against you in the most twisted ways possible. And It thrived on it. Fear. What It did with you after was far more gruesome if at all possible, and it was the reason behind all the missing person cases in Derry. Mostly young children. They were the easiest to scare.

It appeared in many different forms. To some, It presented Itself as a frightening figure you'd find in a children's fable. The big bad wolf, the monster lurking under your bed or in your closet, like the boogieman. For others, people like Mike who have faced great trauma before, It would present itself as a memory. A cruel reminder that they could never escape the past, nothing but a cheap trick to throw them back into what could truly hurt them, to scare them. But of course, It didn't mind using this to Its advantage. 

But It's favorite form, the one shape it took most of all was that of Pennywise, the Dancing Clown.

And Mike knew all of this. He knew more about this entity than just about anybody, not only for his dedicated research. But his experience. Billions of years ago, this entity landed in what would come to be named the town of Derry Maine. Derry had never existed without It lurking beneath its earth. For roughly one year every twenty-seven years it would emerge from a deep sleep, a hibernation, and feed off the people that inhabited the town before returning to Its cavern far beneath the surface. And yet, in all the centuries It has lived on earth, only eight people in existence had faced It, fought It and survived It. And Mike was one of them.

They were young, just a bunch of kids. The Losers, they called themselves. They were each branded with this name, but when they found each other, it became a symbol of pride. Because as long as they had each other, they were safe. Safe from the bullies that had casted them out, the parents they rebelled against, and of course the evil presence lurking around every corner. Days after they emerged from the sewers, after their defeat against the evil - scraped knees, bruises, new traumas and all - they made a vow. A vow to come back and fight should It ever return.

Mike remembered that day very clearly. He certainly remembered that summer clearly, but that day... That day was special. He remembered the warm breeze and grass tickling his ankles. The bleeding hands he held in his own - one in particular - as they spoke the words that would bring them back. He remembered how nervous he felt despite seeing It die. It didn't feel real. It didn't feel permanent. Watching It disappear into the black abyss, while it was a great relief, it felt... incomplete. Almost like listening to a song and it all comes to a sudden halt, it's over before it's finished and you're waiting for the final note.

Maybe this is why he was the only one to remain in Derry. He always knew things were never quite finished. The final note had yet to play. Things did, of course, slow down after that fateful day in the cistern, and the Losers spent several weeks in a true state of summer bliss. Especially Mike and Y/n. They had found each other along the way, before their defeat against Pennywise and they were stronger together because of it. But after their oath, one by one the Losers club of eight became six, then three, and then it was just the two of them. 

While they missed their friends terribly, they were thankful for each other and they never took a moment for granted. It truly was bliss. At least until that gloomy day at that damn train station. It's not long before the heavyweight returns to his shoulders, he can feel the tension in all his muscles and the sickly black sludge stewing in his stomach and he knew.

He had been denying it for so long but he just can't anymore. It's back. Or at the very least, It's rising again. Testing the waters. He knows this in his heart of hearts. He's always known. Since that day in the cistern, since the day of the oath, and the day he found the first missing child flyer last month. And he could almost hear it, he could certainly feel it. The final notes of the unfinished song beating in his chest. This is why he was the one to stay in Derry, he was never too scared to leave. No, he was the bravest because he stayed. The guardian of Derry. And this meant one thing.

The phone call. The return of the infamous Losers Club. But how would he face them? It seemed far too cruel to simply pick up the phone and call them home, cause doing so would inevitably change their lives in the worst way possible. It would destroy them. The new lives they built for themselves, away from their dark pasts they didn't even remember. There was no telling what they'd do.

And yet, a tiny voice in his head was telling him - pleading with him to stop and think. Tp wait. The logical side of his brain, he first assumed it was but it was truly the small part of him that wanted to leave. Abandoned the town he begrudgingly called home and the oath him and his friends had made. The voice that reminded him that there was nothing stopping him from dropping everything and buying the first ticket to Florida he could find. Or any other goddamn place on planet earth cause he knew anywhere was better than Derry.

You don't know, the voice said. Not really, not for sure. For all you know it could stop tomorrow and you would have been worrying for nothing. You're paranoid.

Mike sighs once more, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands and it is only then he realizes he has ventured to the park, now occupying a bench. The heels of his palms dig further into his eyes and he only stops when he notices the spots forming behind his eyelids. His fingers part and his eyes flutter open, his gaze falling to the concrete as his eyes readjust to the slight but sudden change in brightness. He blinks away the blurry lens in his vision and that's when he feels the wind pick up once more.

He can hear it shift the trees and the rest of the world around him and for a brief moment, he relishes in the stimulation, the connection to the outside world he has been missing. He can feel the collar of his worn-out beige flannel shift in the wind and his ears perk when he hears a weak and delicate scrape on the concrete. Curiously, his eyes follow the noise and he spots a crumpled stray flyer tumbling against the pavement and come to a stop when it catches on his foot.

Wearily, he reaches for the paper. The dog-eared corner catches between his two forefingers and it moves frantically in the wind as he raises it into his grasp. Flipping over the paper, he half expects to find another missing person flyer or even an older one. Lord knows they had plenty around town. But to his surprise and great disdain, he finds an advertisement for the upcoming Derry Canal Days Festival. He can feel his heart sink and yet it still manages to pound horribly against his chest. The all too familiar image depicted as the entrance to the funhouse of mirrors.

The cookie-cutter child that seemed far too happy in his surroundings at the fair, a seemingly normal thing but to Mike it set his teeth on edge. The blood-red clouds looming over the fair - meant to coordinate with the fun color scheme of this years fair - but to Mike, it was only a visual aid in the depiction of his darkest nightmare. His past, taunting him. The giant pale white clown carved into the entrance, it's mouth the very mouth of the entrance to the funhouse that casts a shadow that seems to loom over his heart.

Mike felt his mouth run dry, his tongue almost felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth and he could feel his stomach plummet. The words printed at the bottom of the page only taunted him more, and he could feel the painful twinge in his heart at the words. It was the medicine he was dreading to swallow, the task he had hoped he would never have to take on.

As he read the three simple words it felt as if even he were a stranger to himself, that after all this time in this godforsaken town he lost himself in it. He was no note than the rotted, virus inflicted town that he feared in for forty years. It was three words that put the task at hand, the only three words that could simplify the phonecall the Losers would be receiving if Mike picked up the phone.

Derry Is Calling!

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

An: sorry if this is not what you expected right now, it's still early and I'm still setting things up so this is more of a jumpstart for now.


	3. ⊳ Ch. 2: The Butchers Daughter ⊲

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: on the off chance that y'all know about butcher shops and meat or whatever, im so sorry cause even though i did a bunch of research, I know it's still pretty inaccurate so please don't come for me lol
> 
> Warnings: Alv*n Marsh being Alv*n Marsh. He briefly leers at reader. There's no comment, but it still needs a warning i feel. Also, long ass chapter. I truly don't know how to write short chapters, yall. Brief mention of animal death (natural causes) and signs of a PTSD attack. Marker for PTSD attack will be labeled [●●●]. Safe reading loves

\- June 1989 -

Nestled in the heart of Costello Avenue Market, sandwiched between Terry's Barber Shop and one of the finer footwear retailers in town, was Derry's very own, Quality Meats. A quaint little shop - as quaint as butcher shops come, that is - right smack in the middle of the street, just across the road from the Capitol Theater. It was always a treat for Y/n L/n when the annual fourth of July parade was in full swing, she always had the best seat in the house from her bedroom window. It sat just above the shop, and truly had the best view overlooking the street. But the parade was weeks away, and it couldn't come soon enough.

For now, she was stuck in her daily routine at her father's butchery. Every morning it was her job to prep the shop before it opened, check the stock, and assure that everything was in order. Her father oversaw the shop but most of his time was devoted to preparing and tending to the meat in the back. This also left the task of receiving, inspecting, and storing meat upon delivery to her.

Her favorite part of the week. Because it meant seeing her favorite person, Mike Hanlon. He was the delivery boy who supplied some of their best selections, straight from the famous Hanlon Homestead. But this was not what thrilled her, what thrilled her was the company of the thoughtful boy. They had met the previous year when her father had hired him for deliveries, Mike had just taken up work at his grandparent's farm and the two quickly hit it off.

Mike was her saving grace. She never had the stomach for her father's work, and despite their weekly heated arguments on the matter, she'd get stuck with the tasks. At the very least, he didn't force her to work in the back in the meat locker. Not anymore. He had learned that lesson the hard way when he dragged her in despite her kicking and squirming - he figured she was just being dramatic, throwing a fit. But low and behold, it all ended with him clearing out the locker for sterilization when she got sick.

Now the only times she ever stepped foot inside was to get to the back door, which is something she didn't do - something she couldn't do - without plugging her nose and blocking out her peripheral vision as she slipped through the back door to greet her best friend.

An occasion, she feared, that she faced as she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall for the fourth time on this hot June day. Mike was usually pulling up outside the store by now, hell, she clocked out at four to spend time with Mike and it was already three forty-five. Well, three forty-eight according to the shop's clock which one could always rely to be just three minutes fast no matter how much you reset it.

From her spot behind the counter, she had a limited view of the sidewalk outside. A variety of people passed, but none of them were Mike, the person she most wanted to see. And it certainly didn't help that a crowd of people were bunching up near the door, blocking her view of the window.

Three sharp notes from the counters bell broke her from her trance, throwing her harshly back to reality. A rather intimidating man stood on the other side of the counter, he was quite tall and everything about him put Y/n on edge.

"Sorry sir," Y/n mumbled, not feeling very sorry at all. "How can I help you, today?"

The man seemed to rethink his anger, though she would have preferred it over the new look on his leathery face. A wry smile stretched his lips and Y/n did not fail to notice his wandering gaze, only proving her first impressions to be correct. She felt her skin crawl and she did not fight the disgusted look cementing on her face.

"Just don't let it happen again, sweetheart. Now listen up, I'm in a hurry," Christ, she thought, even his voice is unnerving. "I need a pound and a half of the ground round beef."

"Right away, sir," she says, through gritted teeth. "One moment,"

Y/n hated when people ordered when her father was in the back, even though it happened often. Not just because she despised such tasks as grinding the meat and preparing it, but talking to the customers was never a favorite of hers. This was a fine example why.

Instead, she slipped into the back where they kept their stock that wasn't on display and began preparing the meat with a wrinkled nose.

"Fucking creep," she mumbled.

She wished she could say this was the first time something like this had happened, but unfortunately, Derry was filled with scummy people. Something did seem familiar about him though, she might have seen him here before. It'd make sense, Quality Meats was the only butchers around for miles.

Deciding she didn't want to dwell on it any longer, her mind began to wander. Anything that wasn't the man waiting out front really, thankfully that was easy enough. Hopefully, the rest of her workday would go by much quicker so she could meet with Mike. He said he had a surprise for her, and she had been wondering about it all day. The very thought fills her stomach with butterflies. Well, Mike did that all on his own, anyway. He always brought out that side of her. A bubbly, giddy side of her that always seemed to lose any sense of time around him.

Just ten more minutes, she thought. Just power through.

With the order all prepared, she returns to the front counter to find the man leaning against the counter in boredom. Great, now I have to redo the counters, too. When he spotted her, he straightened up and gave her a disapproving once over.

"What took you so long? I'm in a hurry. Fixing your hair couldn't wait, or something?"

Oh, a sexist fucking creep, she mentally corrected herself.

A snarl curled its way onto her face, but before she could make a bitter remark her dad's voice boomed across the shop.

"Well, if it ain't Alvin Marsh," The man in question moved his attention to Y/n's father, and remarkably enough, a somewhat friendly smile appeared on his face. "Good to see ya,"

"You too, always a pleasure,"

Y/n watched the exchange with shocked uncertainty. It frankly appalled her that this man was capable of being friendly, and even in such limited time in his presence. More importantly, she wondered, how could her father know this man? Why would her father know this man? Everything about this Alvin Marsh guy set her teeth on edge, and the only word coming to her mind for how to describe him was... slimy.

"So," the butcher asked, gesturing around the shop. "is there anything I might be able to help you with? Or has my daughter taken care of you, already?"

Y/n watched with great disdain as the man returned to her with another pointed look, glancing down at the packaged meat ready to go. He looks as if he's mulling it over, and finally, he clicks his tongue.

"Sure," he nods, looking back to her father, chuckling dryly with one elbow back on the counter. "when she found the time,"

"Ah, I see," He nods, sending a disapproving look to his daughter.

"Y/n," he sighs, nodding in the direction of the back of the shop, still a stern look upon his face. "Go wash up and clock in early, I'll take care of Mr. Marsh, and the rest."

Her mouth parted, ready to argue - not out of disappointment, for there was none, but to defend herself - when her father cut her off with a warning look.

"Now?"

She sighed heavily, her head rolling with her eyes as her arms snaked around to her back to untie her apron. At least she didn't have to pretend to care anymore now that she was technically off the clock. Her feet dragged across the ground subconsciously showing her frustration. As she made her way to the back when she heard that godawful grating voice again.

"Unbelievable, isn't it? There's just no respect anymore."

Y/n rolls her eyes when she hears her father chuckle. She sighs as turns the corner and hangs her apron up.

"Yeah, I got one of my own at home. Gorgeous little one, feisty too. But one hell of a mouth. Real bitch sometimes,"

Wide-eyed, and seeing red, Y/n is unable to take any more and heads farther back, slamming the door behind her, not caring if she took the fall for it later. Hell, she just might take the meat locker over that. She's shaking with rage, and his words echo in her skull still as she washes her hands. Her hands begin to sting and she realizes she had lost herself in thought and was just about to wear her skin down under the water as she scrubbed. Y/n shook her head, killing the water and drying her hands when her mind finally manages to break away from the creep when she thinks of the time.

Fuck, it's already five!

Quickly, she heads for the door to the meat locker, her nose already plugged when she pushes it open. Luckily, these trips were always fairly quick given the back door to the ally was just a few steps away, but what she saw when she stepped inside completely threw her through a loop.

The back door was wide open.

Upon first glance, she figured her father had opened it, and even though that was the most logical explanation, it didn't make sense. He never left it open. Not when he wasn't there. He was a stickler about that. Her head whips around the locker, but she was the only one. Fighting the urge to take an anxious deep breath, she creeps forward and peers around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

Her E/C eyes widen happily and relieved when she realizes it was only Mike. But her happiness vanished just as soon as it had come when she saw the state he was in, nevermind the fact he was laying in the heap of recycling!

"Mike!"

He jumped as she stepped out into the light, the entrance to the meat locker was quite dark from where he sat. And before he knew it was her, all he had seen was something moving in the shadows towards him. Y/n felt her heart tighten at the sight, something clearly must have happened, and it must have been bad for him to be startled by her.

Not unlike herself, though, he seemed to calm significantly when he realized who he was in company with. And yet, he still wasn't speaking. His eyes just bore into the darkness of the entrance, still panting heavily. Thick beads of sweat slid down his face.

"Mike," she knelt beside him, subtly checking for any signs of injury. "what happened?"

"I..." he gulps, finally breaking his gaze away and looking at her. "don't know."

Her eyebrows raise a bit higher in question, and curiously she searches his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite the comfort of her gaze, he breaks himself away from it to look back into the dark abyss, fearing It would come back. Whatever It was. And as he does so, he swears he can still hear the rattling of the chains and the bleating of a goat, and the very very very back of his skull was the chilling sound of a clowns laugh.

"Mike?"

He realizes he hasn't answered her yet, and quickly he shakes his head 'no'.

"Here, let me help you," she rises to her feet, extending her hand.

He gladly takes it, and despite his lingering fear from his encounters, she still manages to send a spark through his skin just with her touch. Little did he know, she felt the same way. Y/n pulls him to his feet, and already, his attention is centering away from the locker and towards her. She's watching him carefully, and only now does he fully process the intensity of the worry held in her eyes.

"I-I think I'm okay," he stammers, chest still heaving with his labored breathing. "really."

Y/n nods after a moment, concluding he must be telling the truth. Over time she had picked up on Mike's body language, including all of his tells. For instance, she could usually tell when he was hiding something. He'd always tug or scratch at his ear. Or when he was lying, the ends of his lips would twitch up. Almost as if subconsciously offering a guilty smile before quickly suppressing it. But Y/n found no such thing, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

"Good," she sighs with a weak smile, her eyes falling to the ground. "Here,"

Her hand leaves his and immediately, they both miss each other's touch but say nothing of it. She steps around him and begins picking up the many packages of meat that had spilled out of the basket. He joins her, just as soon.

"Oh," he steals a glance at her, a small smile creeping up on him. "thanks."

It goes away just as fast, his heart still aches from how hard it had been beating. Y/n does not fail to notice his darting glances over her shoulder at the meat locker. They both rise to their feet, and Y/n casts a confused glance over her shoulder before turning back to him.

"Are you sure you're good, Mike? You don't seem yourself,"

He sighs, not entirely sure himself. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and his lips part to speak but the words die in his throat when he hears the sudden and obnoxious revving of an engine nearby. He flinches, head jerking in the direction of the sound.

A ghostly expression washes over Y/n, and her anger visibly rises in seconds.

"Was it Bowers, again?" She scoffs, just enraged at the thought of him and she even begins to stammer as she grasps for an insult, anger clouding her brain."That-That bigoted fucking... dickhole!"

She stomps her foot and huffs, unable to properly deal with the overwhelming amount of anger and exhaustion building up in her. Mike looks at her with the tiniest hint of a bemused expression. His brow shot up and he almost felt a chuckle come out. Almost.

"Dickhole?"

"I know, I know," She chuckles dryly, the ends of her lips twitching up. "Shut up,"

The chuckle in his chest breaks loose and he feels as if another piece of stress has been chipped away. A long process in the making, but it was better now that she was here. Mike had yet to find out, the same went for Y/n. Mike placed the packages he had collected thus far back into his basket and Y/n popped her head back inside to grab a small bin by the door. She brought the small container over, placing the few packs of meat she carried inside and the two filled it in a matter of seconds. Any trace of a smile has fallen off her face as she looks back up at her best friend, shrugging.

"Well, he is," she defends. "All of them are. They're wrong in the head, Mike,"

"Can't argue with that," He shrugs, sending a grimace down the alleyway where the Bowers gang had just disappeared. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I got it. Thanks though," she grabs the bin, holding it against her frame and sends him a short smile. "Be right back,"

He answers with a curt nod, his sweaty palms unknowingly rubbing against his jeans out of nervous habit. She disappears back into the darkness, and Mike immediately feels the weight her absence leaves. The guard she had coaxed down had returned, plaguing his mind as several scenarios spiral out in his brain.

He couldn't tell her about the clown, he'd sound crazy! Hell, maybe he was. At least that's a what small voice told him in the back of his head, but deep down he knew what he saw was real. Real to him. Shaking that terrifying image from his brain would be harder than he thought.

Don't forget the turtle.

Mike shook his head, bewildered at the intrusive reminder his brain sent him. It was a strange sensation like the thought was not his own. It was a gentle voice speaking directly to his subconscious like a radio with interference. And yet, it didn't frighten Mike. Not at all like the dark, intrusive thoughts that had been occurring lately. This was soothing and gentle. Nonetheless, the message sent his hand flying for his pockets.

Relief swept over him when he felt the small lump in his right pocket where the gift resided. He smiled to himself at the thought of giving it to Y/ n. He had been working on it all year, a small wooden turtle he had carved himself in the many free moments he had stolen on his grandparent's farm. Mike couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment he had decided to make a turtle, or that it would come to be such a big secret he would keep until he could give it to her. He had just sat down one day and started carving as if something had compelled him to do so.

And now here he was, ready to give her the small carved necklace. Mike was quite proud of it, not only was it his first carving but he had managed to secure it nicely in a thin - but sturdy - string of twine. Mike takes the time to spare a glance at the darkened doorway where his best friend disappeared, before his hand descends into his pocket, his heart hammering against his chest. His hand fishes amongst the pocket of denim and lint where his fingers find the cool touch of wood and twine. He pulls out the necklace and it dangles in the air as he carefully inspects it.

Was the twine fastened tight enough? Was the belly of the shell smooth enough where it would rest comfortably on her chest without splintering? Most importantly... Would she like it?

He sure hoped she would, given her connection to the reptile. She spoke often of it, the turtle that visited her dreams. Y/n never thought much of it, it had become merely a topic of conversation meant only for small lulls but she did find it funny the reoccurring figure. She described it as being the same turtle somehow, and it was never a threatening presence but a calm one. Like a guardian almost. It was a small and silly feeling that abandoned her by the time she was up and awake but little did she - or Mike - know just how deep the connection ran.

These were all thoughts that flooded Mike's mind but he quickly has to put them and himself at ease. The hiss of the airlock to the meat locker and the backroom reached his ears and quickly he stuffed the necklace back into his pockets. When Y/n returns, looking far less than relaxed do all of his previous worries evaporate into the humid summer air. His hardened stare never leaves her troubled frown as she locks up the side door, all the while he grabs his bike.

The pair falls into a comfortable silence as they head for the back of the alley where Y/n's bike was hidden. All that hung in the air was her defeated sigh that had accumulated after a long and stressful day, and the buzzing of cars as they passed by on the main road behind them. His worries now gone in the wake of her newfound stress he pulls up a curious brow as he walks his bike alongside her.

"Rough day?"

Y/n laughs dryly, nodding to her best friend as they round the corner and picks up her bike. "You could say that."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The town of Derry was quaint and rather cozy upon first glance. Quite a charming spot on the map with its snug downtown streets filled with local businesses such as Quality Meats. And one couldn't help but admire the long and beautiful running waters of the Kenduskeag stream that bled out from the Penobscot River, under the town and out into the Barrens stretching past the old train yard. The Barrens were the stretch of woods just outside of town.

And it was precisely these woods that the pair had found solace in the cruel and evil world they called their home. Months after their meeting, they had both explored the Barrens and to their luck, they had stumbled upon the Fort. The Fort was what Y/n and Mike called the large pit they had discovered past the train yard and just over the stream. You had to swing across an old rope swing they had found, but that made journey all the more fun. They almost hadn't seen the Fort behind the fallen trees walled around and piled over the top.

The way the trees had fallen it had created a rather spacious room just below the earth. When inside, one could see through the branches slats and out into the rest of the Barrens without being easily spotted. It made the perfect hideout from those who wished to see them harmed, and it also made a wonderful makeshift amphitheater. It was often they would look up from their conversations and see the wildlife walking around just feet away, still unaware of their presence.

This is where they found themselves now, deep amongst the thickets, far away from their everyday troubles. It wasn't until they had abandoned their bikes at the stream to cross and venture deeper inside did they finally feel the effects of the change in scenery. At long last, the weight that settled on their hearts and troubled minds began to evaporate slowly as they inhaled the fresh and pleasantly overwhelming aroma of pine and fresh dirt. It blended perfectly with the dewy oak that hung in the air after the past week's summer storm, as did the gentle breeze that managed to reach them after a long journey through the trees.

The sight of the Fort puts the last of their darkest thoughts to bed - for now. The crunching of twigs is the only sound that reaches their ears as they approach their haven. It is then that it occurs to Y/n, the birds have stopped singing. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard any birds in weeks. It was quite unusual considering these woods of all places were where their song carried the loudest. It was as if they were all... hiding.

She realized even the atmosphere felt different, and not just in the Barrens. It had been a thought blooming in the back of her mind for the past few months; that the town had been cast into a dark shadow. While Y/n had lived in Derry all her life, it had always felt mysterious to her. But this was different, it was darker. Like a cloudless storm had rolled into Derry, with no intention of leaving.

Mike brought her from her trance, pulling her gaze back down to earth from where it was previously fixed on the treetops.

"I feel it, too."

"What do you think it is?" Y/n asks finally.

Mike's lips crease into a flat shrug, eyes flitting to the ground as his shoulders briefly rise.

"I don't know," he sighs, his gaze trailing up to where hers laid in the treetops as if expecting to see this so-called storm with his very eyes. "But it's nothing good,"

Her hardened frown turns back to the forest floor, blinking several times as she reached for a thought that was fast asleep in the farthest corner of her brain. It almost didn't even feel like a thought so much as a part of her brain itself. But it quickly dissipates as calm washes over her, taking with it any budding anxieties. She could almost laugh, none of this made sense. Y/n had been waiting all day to be here with Mike, and now she was.

Y/n wasn't going to let anything ruin that. Or so she hoped.

A coy smile plays at her lips as she picks up her pace towards the Fort, and swiftly she navigates through their hidden entrance. Her hopeful attitude is just infectious enough that it takes to Mike, and warmth blooms in his stomach as he quickly follows her. His feet bring him to the entrance of the Fort, and through the slats, he can see Y/n settling in.

The sight of her relaxing brought a small smile to Mike's face, and quickly he joined her inside. The welcoming effect of the Fort just as soon touched him as it had her, and never had he been more relieved to see the sight around him.

Soft light from the gas lantern bathed the small dome inside the earth, illuminating the many mossy branches perched above their heads. Several discarded wooden boards lay tucked into the dirt beneath their feet, creating makeshift wooden floors that had long been covered in several spare blankets they had brought. While the dome was just that, it was not a perfect circle. It was a bit uneven but this gave the pair the advantage of a single corner. This is where they kept the single beanbag they had managed to get their hands on.

It was just as they had left it, a warm and cozy corner of the world that belonged just to them. It smelled just as the forest around them, only more intensified in their close courters.

[●●●●]

Y/n stumbled away from the bean bag suddenly with a horrified shriek, her band coming to rest shakily over her mouth as she backed into the dirt wall behind her. Mike jumped to her side, eyes wide and fearful as his mind conjured every horrible possibility. The fear from the alley returned.

"What? What's wrong?"

A heavy sob was building in the far back of her throat, her wide e/c irises were beginning to dilate and her limbs trembled. Mike recognized within moments what had caused her such distress, having recognized an attack of hers like this only twice before. But the pain of seeing her so distraught was burned in his brain so he might never forget. His hand that had come to rest on her shoulder now brought her into his embrace. As she stumbled numbly into his arms he saw her eyelids screw shut, and several heavy tears were squeezed free.

"Hey," he whispered soothingly, his hand rubbing circles in her back. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're not there anymore, you're not there. You're not there..."

Slowly but surely her breathing becomes less ragged, and he can feel her head nodding into the crook of his neck as she takes in his words. Y/n's sniffles are loud in his ear but he couldn't care less. Mike just wanted her to be okay. He only now realizes he was still muttering sweet nothings into her ear as he feels his mouth grow dry.

"We're okay, Y/n. You're safe."

She takes a long and trembling breath that he can feel in the crook of his neck. Her breath brings out goosebumps on his skin but he quickly banishes the thought away in her troubled state. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible, even from beside his ear.

"Thanks, Mike,"

All he can find himself doing is pressing a flat smile to his lips, his eyes glazing over sadly at the limp pigeon in the corner behind the beanbag. The sight brings a strong and forceful wave of sadness that washes over him, but he knows it is not quite the same kind of sadness as she is experiencing. Finally, after almost twenty minutes have passed, she breaks away, sniffling.

Mike feels the weight on his heart triple in size when she pulls away to reveal her puffy eyelids. The whites of her eyes are laced with red veins, and her trembling lips let loose a few shaky breaths. Immediately, she does all she can to wipe away the tears, but the evidence of her sadness remains. She shakes her head, disappointed in letting herself show this side and chuckles bitterly as she clutches her aching chest.

[●●●●]

"I'm sorry,"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Don't do that, okay? You should never apologize for this. For feeling anything. You have your own baggage, just like everyone else."

She chews the inside of her lip in a nervous habit, heat creeping up in her neck.

"Sor-"

He eyes her warningly, and she bites back a sheepish smile and clears her throat. "Okay."

He studies her for a moment, not aware he is even doing so as her swollen eyes trail sadly across the room where the pigeon lays. He can hear a mournful whine building in her throat before he cleared his own with a somber expression.

"It's okay, I'll take care of 'em."

A weak, thankful smile flickers across her face and she watches thoughtfully as he rises and crosses the fort to the pigeon. He grabs one of the spare towels they kept around - sometimes the old rags they spread across the wooden grates would need a quick replacement, as they discovered the hard way - and knelt before the limp bird. Y/n finally rises to her feet decidedly and slips past Mike and outside the Fort without a word, a rusty trowel now in hand.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The pair now stood before a small lump in the dirt, their heads pulled down with gravity as they stare at their feet. After Y/n had dug a small grave, Mike had buried the old pigeon, and the two had managed a small eulogy. Hosting a small funeral for a pigeon is certainly not what the two had envisioned their day would look like, but oddly enough, it was cathartic for both of them.

Mike was hardly old enough to remember his parent's funeral. The same could be said for Y/n, and like Mike, she hadn't exactly been emotionally or mentally present for her mother's funeral, for when the time came she had still been in quite the state of trauma. Y/n didn't like to talk about it, and in their year of friendship Mike had only recently found out, but she had been the one to find her mother's body as a very young child. So it was no surprise the familiar sight of the limp body brought her such distress.

As her glassy eyes stare numbly at the mound in the dirt she feels a soft yet somehow calloused hand slip into her own, giving her palm a light squeeze. Her head feels heavier than normal in her crestfallen state, she notices, as she picks her stare up off the ground to look at Mike. He wears a small and gentle smile for her and gestures past her head towards the Fort that lies beyond only a few feet.

"C'mon. We should settle in before it gets too much later."

Her thumb flitters across his skin in response, and she nods. The two of them make their way back to their hideaway, the sounds of the earth beneath their feet filling the pensive silence once more. When they enter, her eyes flicker to the seat she was previously ready to occupy. A small shudder passes through her and she instead chooses the pile of blankets across the cramped room.

Mike settles in beside her, his hands flying back to his pockets again to ensure the turtle remained on his person. Sure enough, the small wooden necklace could be felt floating amongst his things inside his pocket. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, one she would have caught had she not distracted herself with the task of fishing out their stored away activities. A deck of cards was pulled from the small and rusty tin lunchbox they kept there for storage, soon to follow was an equally rusty - and rather dusty - silver spoon. Y/n shrugs with the spoon in hand.

"We could play Spoons or something?" Y/n suggested half-heartedly, her eyebrows falling into a curious frown. "Or was there something else you wanted to play?"

He gulps nervously though he doesn't quite understand why he was even nervous in the first place, it was Y/n! Then again, all the more reason for his heart to be aflutter... It was Y/n.

His sweaty palms return to his jeans and he wipes them anxiously hoping to keep his hands dry, and he sends her a weak and nervous smile.

"I um," he cleared his throat, and she emptied her hands, curiously turning all her attention to him. "I uh, wanted to show you something I made?"

"Oh," she says, a bit taken aback. "Yeah, okay. What is it?"

Any and all responses he had gone over previously in his mind vanished into thin air, leaving him speechless. All he could do at that moment was fish into his pockets, his fingers lacing around the string as he pulled out the necklace. It dangles in the air, the soft golden light from the lamp beside them illuminated the many grooves engraved into the wood that created the illusion. It sways back and forth before their eyes, but his gaze is set not on the turtle but her.

Her eyes had widened in reverence, and he could feel his heart swell with pride. She shakes her head in disbelief, the ends of her lips tugging up in a smile.

"This is incredible, Mike!"

He can feel a heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears that could rival the summer sun. His grin widens bashfully.

"Thanks," he says, gesturing towards her with the necklace, inwardly cursing at himself for this moment not going as smoothly as he had hoped. "It's, uh. It's yours. I made it for you. This was the surprise I was telling you about."

Her attention is on him now, and he can feel his heart skip a beat. He notices that the swelling in her eyes has gone down a little, but the smallest of beads pool in her eyes. She was welling up a bit.

"Mike," she breathes. "Thank you. I... Don't know what to say, I feel like "thank you" isn't enough."

He shrugs as she takes the necklace into her hands to examine it more closely, her thumb tracing the shell of the wooden reptile as she gapes fondly at it. Unbeknownst to Mike, her stomach won't stop its series of flips. Finally, she looks back up at him, and he's happy to see the first genuine spark of glee in her eyes he had been longing to see all day. The pride in his chest grows even bigger knowing he had been the one to make her feel better, even if it was only a little.

"I love it." She says finally.

Y/n takes the necklace by the twine, parting it in two as she brings it to her neck. Her eyes are travel across the fort as her tongue pokes out from between her lips thoughtfully as she attempts to secure the necklace in place. She struggles for several moments, muttering a few frustrations to herself as she fumbles to tie the knot properly without it slipping from her fingers first. Seeing this, his own stomach doing a flip, Mike scoots himself closer and gestures to her neck.

"Here, let me," he offers.

A heat rages up from her neck and to her cheeks and ears, not unlike Mike had moments ago but she complies and turns herself so he can reach the back of her neck. He takes the twine from her hands, their fingertips grazing briefly creating a matching storm of butterflies in their stomach. And as Mike sets to work on the knot, neither of them can see the brilliant grins stretching across their faces that they wished to hide from the other.

"There you go," he mutters shakily, praying she can't hear his voice wavering.

She does, but it only sends her heart racing faster. She mumbles a 'thanks' as she turns back around, and sends him another thankful smile as she simpers down at the turtle that now hung from her neck. Already her fingers had snuck up to her neck to fiddle with the turtle, and a warmth washes over her.

Y/n does not know whether it was her nearly intoxicating feelings for Mike, his kindness, the reassuring presence of the turtle, or perhaps all of the above, but she now felt a great deal better. It was as if a great weight had been taken off of her shoulders, the banishing of great unease as she wore the necklace now. Perhaps it was all in her mind, but Y/n rather enjoyed the strength the gesture had brought her.

And maybe, just maybe, Y/n could take on whatever the future might throw at her.


End file.
